"Bah!" she said, "it was a pity I did it for you; you are not worth it." "What do you mean?" said Florence, turning pale. "Because you are not; I don't believe you'll go through with it even now. Bah! such glory, such honor, such a proud moment, and to say you are miserable! May I ask what you are miserable about?" "Because I have sacrificed my honor; because I am the meanest, most horrid girl on God's earth," said Florence, with passion. "Because the Scholarship so won turns to dust and ashes in my mouth. Because--because of Kitty, little Kitty, who wanted really what I have so basely taken from her. Oh, I hate myself and I hate you, Bertha. Why did I ever meet you?" Florence was past tears, a dry sob rose in her throat, it half choked her for a moment, then she stood up and wrung her hands. "Go away, please, Bertha; leave me now; I cannot have you." "You can put things right, of course, according to your idea of right," said Bertha, in a sulky voice; "you can go to Sir John and tell him what has happened; you can do that if you please." "I cannot--you know I cannot." "I certainly do know you cannot," said Bertha. "Well, now, my dear, we will leave off heroics; it is all very fine for you to talk of your conscience, but I don't think that little monitor within is of a very active turn of mind. If he were he would have absolutely at the first idea shunted off the evil proposal which I happened to make to you. You would never have yielded to the temptation. Think just for a moment: would Kitty Sharston have done this thing?" "Of course not; why do you ask?" "Think again, would Mary Bateman have done this thing?" "Again, why do you ask?" "My dear Florence, I ask in order to reassure you that, sensitive and keen as you think your little inward monitor, it is at best but a poor weakling. Now, the conscience of Kitty and the conscience of Mary would have risen up in hot protest, and the temptation would not have been a temptation to them, but it was to you because of the poor health of your little monitor. Believe me, the monitor is in a bad way, and if you will struggle through the remorse of the next couple of days it will simply die." "And then I shall be lost," said Florence, with a frightened look in her face. "Oh, you will live a very comfortable life if you take care of your health; you have a good sixty years before you. You can do a good deal in sixty years, and now for goodness' sake stop talking about the matter. It is done and cannot be undone. I want to say something to you myself." "But at the end of sixty years I shall die all the same," said Florence. "Oh, Bertha, I go mad when I think of dying. Oh, Bertha! Bertha!" Even Bertha felt a momentary sense of terror when she looked into Florence's eyes. She backed away from her and stood by the table. "Come, come, my dear," she said, "you'll get over all this," but still she avoided looking at Florence's eyes.